“Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most.”
(via the-hobbit)
“The Lady of Lórien! Galadriel!” cried Sam. “You should see her, indeed you should, sir. I am only a hobbit, and gardening’s my job at home, sir, if you understand me, and I’m not much good at poetry - not at making it: a bit of comic rhyme, perhaps, now and again, you know, but not real poetry - so I can’t tell you what I mean. It ought to be sung. You’d have to get Strider, Aragorn that is, or old Mr Bilbo, for that. But I wish I could make a song about her. Beautiful she is, sir! Lovely! Sometimes like a great tree in flower, sometimes like a white daffadowndilly, small and slender like. Hard as di’monds, soft as moonlight. Warm as sunlight, cold as frost in the stars. Proud and far-off as a snow-mountain, and as merry as any lass I ever saw with daisies in her hair in springtime. But that’s a lot o’ nonsense, and all wide of my mark.”
“Then she must be lovely indeed,” said Faramir. “Perilously fair.”
(via faramircaptainofgondor)
i-am-timelocked
- me: *steps into the tardis*
- doctor: go on, say it. people always do
- me: ...
- me: does this have wi-fi
